


Health Hazards

by LWTIS



Series: SP K2 Week [4]
Category: South Park
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M, Smoking, courtship through aggressive notes and powerpoint presentations, sp k2 week
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-29
Updated: 2018-07-29
Packaged: 2019-06-17 22:55:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15471960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LWTIS/pseuds/LWTIS
Summary: Someone keeps leaving notes under Kenny's saucer about the dangers of smoking.(Well, it starts out as notes. The essay he's holding in his hands is twenty pages long and has footnotes.)Written for the SP K2 Week. //Day 4 - Reading.//





	Health Hazards

The first note is written in blue ink, scrawled on the corner of the sole clean napkin.

_Smoking causes 84% of deaths from lung cancer._

Briefly, Kenny wonders if someone forgot their study notes. But the rest of the table is empty, save for a fairly generous tip for a four dollar drink. So he cleans up, carefully dropping the napkin into the recycling bin.

\---

The second note takes up an entire square napkin, words twice as big and ferociously written.

_Smoking increases your risk of having a stroke by at least 50%, which can cause brain damage and death._

Essay season must be rough for the med students. Between lunch and closing time, they occupy at least four tables across the cafe, the weight of their textbooks matched only by the weight of the bags under their eyes.  
As he tips the tray and its contents into the trash, he toys with the idea of a four-shot espresso deal, with a discount if you show the cashier your half finished essay and your deadline. Tear stains on your monitor or notes gets you an extra 10% off.  
  
He knows at least one regular with red hair and a preference to purple knitted sweaters that would definitely appreciate it.

\---

Note Number Three is written in red ink.

_Smoking can cause your bones to become weak and brittle._

He shoves it into his pocket, barely hearing anything above the roar of the lunch rush.  
  
In the evening, as he’s lying on the concrete, staring at the splintered bone protruding from his broken leg, he remembers the note.  
Huh.  
His bones _have_ been snapping a little more easily since he took up smoking.  
Or it could be that the trucks smashing into him in Denver are just heavier than the South Park ones he’s used to.

\---

He probably missed note number four, or even five. He hates skipping out on work, but his latest death has left a lingering mark on his body, leaving his steps shaky and his skin ashy-grey. The last time he tried to work a shift after a hit-and-run death, Bebe had almost called an ambulance for him, despite all protests. So he takes a day off to sleep.

Note Number Indeterminable appears on a Thursday and does not disappoint. The napkin has been upgraded to the back of a flyer, in all its A4 glory. The text is framed with thick, glossy orange highlighter.   

_Smoking damages your heart and your blood circulation, increasing the risk of conditions such as:_

  * __coronary heart disease__


  * _heart attack_


  * _stroke_


  * _peripheral vascular disease_


  * _cerebrovascular disease_



There’s a free-hand drawing of a human heart in the corner, in all its anatomical glory. Despite the sombre content, the note now is too intricate to throw into the trash. Kenny takes it with him to the back. By the end of the evening, it somehow makes its way on to the staff noticeboard, greeting the barista with its horrifying facts on every trip out to the smoking area.

“Was this really necessary?” he calls out once the store is closed, hands on his hips. He only gets giggles in reply, followed by his manager’s smug little grin.

“Someone clearly spend a lot of time on that. It’d be a waste not to appreciate _art_ , McCormick.”   

“Why are you bullying me, Bebe?” Kenny asks, tone mournful. He leans on his broom. “This is completely inappropriate workplace behaviour. Did my sister set you up to this?”

“She didn’t, but you know I’d sell you for a corn chip if your sister asked me to.”

“And this is why I respect you.”

\---

He appreciates the intentions, he really does. Both Bebe’s and Karen’s.  
It’s just a little difficult to tell your loved ones that it’s hard dying from lung cancer when vehicles, the elements and jagged weapons of drunks and crooks do a quicker job on a regular basis.  
  
He’s died dozens of times on the slow lead-up to twenty. He will no doubt die a hundred more.  
And that thought is a thousand times scarier than any fact or picture they could print on the back of a cigarette box.

\---

Note Number Indeterminable Plus One is no longer a note.  
It is a literal essay.

Blinking, Kenny has to slowly lower his tray so he can grab the empty mug and the folded-up pages tucked underneath the saucer.  
There’s...there’s a title page. It’s all typed up in Montserrat, with subsections and - fucking footnotes. There are diagrams.  He thumbs at the corners in disbelief, slowly counting.  
One, two, three….ten, eleven, twelve -  
Twenty. Twenty fucking pages.

“Oh my God.”

\---

“Bebe, can I set up a lost and found thing on the counter?”

His manager glances up from her screen, eyebrows raised.

“What for?”

“Someone left their essay on corner table. I think it’s one of the med students - they’re prone to losing their notes already but this is a twenty page monster. “

Her frown deepens before realisation sparks across her gaze.

“...are they notes about smoking?”  
  
“Yes?” He is not entirely sure why he is being subjected to the famous Stevenson ‘You’re a fucking Moron’ Eyeroll in response.

“I’m _pretty damn sure_ those are being left on the table on purpose.” she drawls. Slowly, for his benefit. “For. _You know_. The one who usually cleans them. And reeks of smoke after every break?”

He wants to protest that he doesn’t _reek,_  thank you very much. And that it’s been a particularly stressful week - but his brain is a little stuck on her suggestion. That, and he knows Bebe doesn’t care for his excuses.

“If I had to make an _educated guess_ , I would say it’s the redhead with the bitchy eyebrows and _unfairly_ phenomenal ass that stares at you every single time.” she continues, lips pressing into a small pout. “I know you get super busy, but I didn’t think you were _that_ blind.”

Her tone lacks bite, annoyance giving way to playfulness. In a daze, Kenny turns to leave. He pauses in the doorway.

“...you really think he’s leaving those for me?”

“Kenny, I already have my hands full with Tucker. I can’t deal with more than one useless queer at a time. Get out of my office.”

\---

And so, he watches.  
He doesn’t have to wait long until Knitted Sweater Regular makes his appearance, alongside Tall, Dark and Very Tired. The latter heads straight towards the counter, leaving his friend to snag a table.

The day trickles by. Customers come and go, three mugs shatter, two people break down crying before 4pm, and Bebe was absolutely correct. Knitted Sweater stares an awful lot in between his furious typing and aggressive caffeine intakes.  
Their eyes meet once - for a grand two seconds before he drops his gaze, suddenly very immersed in studying.  
  
When he walks past them, balancing a full tray, he can spy a very, very familiar looking orange highlighter next to his books.

\---

It’s the impotence note that prompts him to act.

Schooling his grin into a somewhat professional expression, he tucks Note Number Indeterminable Plus Three into his breast pocket with care before sauntering over to the table of two.    
(It was written on a small card, a leftover from a flashcard session, no doubt. The script was hand-written in green ink.  
_Smoking can cause male impotence. It can also damage sperm, reduce sperm count and cause testicular cancer.)_

It was a treat night, judging from the empty plates scattered over the table. Knitted Sweater - wearing a really nice cardigan today - is in the middle of an explanation. At Kenny’s approach though, he quickly ducks behind a book.  
Tall, Dark and Tired’s exasperation could probably power a small country.

“Hey guys~” Kenny chirps, hands clasped behind his back. “Everything alright? Enjoy the food?”

“Yes, thank you.” came the somewhat strangled reply. After a beat, the textbook is lowered to reveal a pair of sharp green eyes, and a bridge of a nose smattered with freckles.

“Wonderful!” Kenny says with a grin. He cocks his head. “Oh, and - would you like to check?”

On the side, he hears Tall, Dark and Tired choke on his coffee.

“W-what?”

“The check. For all this. Would you like it?”

The splotches that appear on Cute Redhead’s cheeks as he hurriedly nods are fascinating. Next to him, Tall, Dark and Tired is trying his very best not to start laughing.

“I’ll send right over.” Kenny nods, reaching for the empty mugs. He waits until the other’s shoulders relax a fraction before speaking again. “But if you really are so worried about my sperm count, you are more then welcome to check. Make sure everything is alright.”

And with a wink and smooth roll of his hips, he marches back into the kitchen.

\---

Note Number Indeterminable Plus Four is a giant, hastily scrawled emoji on the back of the bill.

_ >:/ _

\---

His name is Kyle and he is the most anal retentive person he has ever had the pleasure of meeting.

He does not appreciate Kenny’s shit-eating grin the next morning. The steaming mug of coffee in his hands, however, convinces him to sit down long enough for an attempt to appease.  
Turns out they’re the same age, and Kenny had been correct in hypothesising him as  a med student. Tall, Dark and Tired’s name was Stan - or Stanley, when Kyle was irritated - and he was studying to be a vet.    

\---

The notes cease.  
They are now replaced with phone screens shoved under his nose, or a computer screen turned his way when he arrives with a tray full of steaming mugs. After an afternoon where Kenny makes the mistake of coughing near Kyle, he is treated to a fucking _Powerpoint Presentation_.   
(The video links are traumatising. The transition animations make it a little better.)

\---

Kyle likes espressos, grilled chicken sandwiches and regurgitating horrible, horrible facts about the effect of smoking.

Kyle is easy on the eyes, with his untamed hair and fierce eyes. The boy has the softest-looking mouth Kenny had seen in years, despite being twisted in a permanent judgemental scowl.

He’s smart as a whip, with a tongue sharp enough to match. He dislikes the system but loves the subjects, the goal he’s working towards. When talking about something he carries close to his heart, his whole face lights up, eyes sparkling in a way that makes Kenny’s breath catch in the back of his throat. So far, these include medicine, his little brother Ike who will probably revolutionise space travel when he gets bored of playing COD, and ninjas. (The last one, he found out by complete accident, and it was the funniest five minutes of his life.)

He is also completely unsubtle with his attention, his curiosity. When he cannot spare the time to chat or to tease, Kenny can still feel the other’s gaze brushing over him, a low burn against the back of his neck. He finds that he doesn’t mind one bit.

It’s nice. To be on the end of such intense inquisitiveness.  
Of this much attention.  
The thought that someone cared this much about his health is sweet.

(A part of him wishes he could reassure Kyle that the chances of him dying in either of these horrendous ways is close to none. The other part selfishly indulges in the fact he has to stay quiet.)

\---

“You’re smoking less.”

He sounds pleased. When Kenny glances up, he’s treated to him sporting a smile to match.

“Well, thanks to a certain video _someone_ showed me, I now keep seeing clogged arteries and rotten lungs every time I close my eyes.” he replies with a shudder. “Kind of kills the mood, you know.”

The redhead’s smile just grows, looking far too pleased with himself. The sight does something complicated to Kenny’s stomach, the feeling not unlike a herd of drunk butterflies.  

“I’m just..happy.” the med student admits. One of his fingers winds around a loose curl. “Usually when I tell people these, it’s in one ear and out the other.”

He keeps talking, but for Kenny doesn’t catch any of it.

“...you tell a lot of people these things?” he asks, keeping his tone as light as he can. Kyle’s responding groan speaks a thousand words.

“As much as I can, but you know how people are when you tell them what they’re doing is _wrong_ and they have to change  - “

Right.  
Of course.  
  
Of course Kyle, future doctor, would spend a lot of his time trying to educate the people around him about the dangers of smoking. Of course he would try and spread the knowledge he was clearly passionate about.  
  
It’s not like Kenny was anything special.

Underneath the table, his hand clenches into a fist, crumpling the paper in his palm into a tiny, ruined ball.

Kyle pauses in his rant to lift his mug to his lips, sigh muffled against the porcelain. Kenny jumps at the opportunity.

“Ah, sorry - I gotta go - it’s end of the month soon and Bebe’s got me going over the paperwork.” he says, managing an apologetic smile. Disappointment flashes across Kyle’s face before he nods, hands reaching for his headphones. .

“I’ll see you later then.”

As he walks back towards the staff room, he drops the crumpled note, with his phone number and an invitation to dinner, into the bottom of the recycle bin.

\---

“Can I change my shifts for next week?”

Bebe’s eyebrows practically disappear in her hairline as she catches sight of his expression. “...which one do you want?”

“Can I do closing time? I’ll do all of them.”

“... _All of them_? Are you sure?”

“...yeah. Please.”

\---

During the lead-up to exam season, the shop stayed open until two am every day, long after the library closed. It was the saving grace for procrastinating students and a point of dread and contention for the staff members. There was no greater sway in a discussion than ‘I’ll cover your closing shift.’

Kenny arrives long after the sun dips and the crowds disperse. He spends the hours methodically sweeping the floor, double-checking inventory and re-filling the coffee mugs of the lingering night owls. He sees maybe one of his colleagues at the start of his shift, and passes out the minute he arrives home.  
It suits him just fine.

\---

Tweek’s expression speaks of harried annoyance when they cross paths on Wednesday evening.

“Could you - nghh - sort your shit out?” he asks bluntly before shoving a handful of notes at Kenny. He’s out of the door before he can ask anything.

There’s five notes - one for every day, presumably. Lined paper, plain paper, graph paper. On a few, the handwriting seems cautious, consonants rounded perfectly. On others, there are grooves on the paper from the pressure of the pen tip.  
Four contain the usual info bites - about throat cancer. Acid reflux. Kidney stones. Accelerated aging.  
One carries only one sentence.

_I hope you’re doing okay._

\---

He can’t even enjoy smoking anymore.

Every time he lights up, the facts rush him quicker than the smell. With every breath, he is reminded that he spent just a little too much time reading Kyle’s notes, absorbing Kyle’s voice, unconsciously categorising the information Kyle shared.    
  
It’s kind of sad.  
In all honesty, the whole situation was kind of sad.

It was the only easy thing he had allowed himself. The only moment of weakness - when things got hard, too much, overwhelming - just once. Just once, he wanted to do anything but pull himself together and carry on regardless. Just once, he wanted to indulge in a quick relief, a quick comfort. And now, even that sours in his mouth. Every drag he takes only fuels the undercurrent of anxiety swirling in his stomach, clawing at his throat.

A rough voice clears their throat to his side, making him jump.

“Hey man, can you spare one?” its owner grumbles at him, extending a gloved hand towards him. Kenny blinks at him for a long moment before digging into his pocket, miserable acceptance seeping deep into his core.  

“Here, dude. Box is all yours.”   

\---

He is looking for the ledger at 1 am on the Friday morning when he sees Kyle again.

The med student is sitting in his usual seat, upper body slumped over the table, head resting on his open textbook. There are dark smudges under his eyes, hair in disarray. His laptop lies next to his head, closed and given up on.  
He looks terrible.

This is the part where he turns around, heads back into the stock room and finishes what he was doing. By the time he is done, Kyle will no doubt have packed up and gone home. Then he will pull his coat on, exit out the back and go home.  
That would be the smart, adult thing to do. The responsible thing. The path of self-preservation.

He is setting down his tray on Kyle’s table a mere five minutes later, letting it drop onto the surface with just enough force to make the mug clatter. With a startled yell, he whips his head up.

“...Kenny?” he croaks after a moment. He raises a hand to rub at his eyes. “...What are you doing here so late?”

_I’m a filthy fucking masochist._

“That’s my line.” he chides instead. He busies himself with pushing the mug of chamomile tea in front of the redhead before sliding into the seat opposite. “I work here. Why are you here past midnight?”

_A stupid, stupid fucking masochist._

Cautiously, Kyle gives the contents of his mug a sniff. “...exams are in two weeks’ time. I’m not ready, and I need to be ready.”

Drinking coffee at 1am when he knew the med student had to be up at 8am isn’t the best way to go about addressing the exam issue. But Kyle probably didn’t need to be told that.

With a sudden thought, he reaches for Kyle’s pen. A quick scribble later, he’s pushing a napkin in his direction.

_The over-consumption of caffeine can lead to insomnia, restlessness and irritability._

A snort escapes the other, eyes finally lighting up with a semblance of their usual fire. He lifts the mug to his lips, and for a few minutes, there’s silence.

It makes Kenny antsy. The drunk butterflies are back with a vengeance, and this time, they’re wearing knives as stiletto heels.

“I gave my box of cigarettes to some stranger last night.” he blurts out. He can’t quite pull a neutral face when green eyes snap to his face. “Just - he wanted one. And I thought, fuck it, and gave him the box. So...that’s where I’m at right now.” He swallows. Runs a hand through his hair. “If you wanna like, take that into consideration with the others.”

There’s a clink as china hits wood. Kyle stares at him like he’s grown an extra head.

“...what others?”

“...the other smokers?” he clarifies, resisting the urge to squirm. “...you said you do... _this_...as much as you can.”

“Not for...everyone…” Kyle replies slowly. His eyes narrow before the snapping wide just as the penny drops.

“W-what - how did you - _No!!_ ” he practically yells, red blooming across his face in angry patches. “What the _fuck,_ Kenny! Do you think I make fucking PowerPoint presentations for every chainsmoker I come across?!”

“...I’m...starting to realise I might have made the wrong assumption.” the blonde mutters, somewhat sheepish. He cannot take his eyes off the flush seeping its way down the med student’s neck.

“Well I don’t!” Kyle snaps, jerking forwards. His earlier exhaustion has been replaced by pure annoyance, and it makes Kenny’s heart stutter. “I don’t do that shit for just anyone.”

And just like that, the jagged edges on his drunk butterflies are gone.

Mirroring the other’s pose, Kenny leans forwards. He extends his hands across the table, palms facing upwards.

“Just for the cute ones?”

There’s a huff, barely audible before warm hands are sliding on top of his own, wasting no time in intertwining their fingers tightly.

“Just for the _infuriating_ ones, apparently.”

"This really was about my sperm count all along, wasn't it?"

"I'm going to strangle you."

The clock on the opposite wall chimes quietly. The digital numbers display 1.11am.

“Maybe you should come have dinner with me after my shift next Friday.” the blonde murmurs once he finds his voice again. His thumb traces over uncalloused knuckles gently as he leans close enough to press his lips against Kyle’s ear. “Just to see if I still want to kiss you when you’re not threatening me with possibilities of a long, painful death.”

\---

The experiment is highly successful.

Just to be sure, at the end of it, Kenny insists they repeat it very soon.

\---

 

AN:

EDIT: the wonderful [towny](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Townycod13/pseuds/Townycod13) drew me some fanart for my birthday and I am compromised ;w; [PLEASE TAKE A LOOK AT THIS ADORABLENESS!!](https://lwtis.tumblr.com/post/182216300690/townycod13-happy-birthday-lwtis-i-love-all)

It's nearly 3am and now I am only 2 stories behind. Whoohoo!

I combined this with a prompt I had saved for a while:  
“You’re the health-conscious med student and I’m the chain-smoking art student who’s also your barista and you leave me notes on smoking and lung health on your napkins and also a 20-page essay on lung cancer tucked under you saucer” AU.

Also, if I got you in the mood and you wanna read a fantastic fic where Kyle and Kenny work in a cafe together, please check out [Hand Me An Apron](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15344880) by [PaisleyWraith](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaisleyWraith)! 

Check out all the [main blog for K2 Week on Tumblr ](https://k2-week.tumblr.com/)and also the [tag! ](https://www.tumblr.com/tagged/sp-k2-week)And whilst you're there, [hit me up! ](https://lwtis.tumblr.com/):)


End file.
